


home, sweet home (this christmas)

by schwanenkoenigin



Series: only you pt. 1 [8]
Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwanenkoenigin/pseuds/schwanenkoenigin
Summary: they're in berlin, it's christmas eve, magic happens.





	home, sweet home (this christmas)

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically just a christmas gift for my girlfriend. i love you so much!!!!!
> 
> so to you and everyone else - i hope you enjoy reading this; i certainly enjoyed writing it :)

Camila has always loved Christmas. There’s something about the atmosphere, about the way people seem so much calmer around this time of the year, that makes her feel incredibly relaxed. Everything seems so cozy—parks, markets, cafés, restaurants—that she completely forgets about things that would normally stress her out.

When in Miami, the best part to Camila is, of course, actually being _home_. Being with her family. And her friends. Unfortunately, she _still_ doesn’t have that _special someone_ to share a blanket in front of the fire with, that someone who jokes about how exciting she gets about the flames, that someone who makes every place, even the crowded malls—the only thing she hates during Christmas—feel like home,that asomeone who holds her at night and kisses her nose because of how cute she is when she sees her presents—but she know she’ll have them eventually.

(She actually thinks she’s _found_ that someone, she’s just not _with_ them. But she doesn’t like to think about that. It makes her sad, and she doesn’t want to ruin Christmas for herself.)

Back when she was in Fifth Harmony and they were traveling around the world, she found comfort in being with her bandmates. She found it in staying in warm places, in touring, in going skating on ice rinks with fake ice while the palm trees around her were moved by hot wind; she found it in sharing laughter with the people closest to her.

God, Fifth Harmony. Camila sighs. The love she still, after all these years, has for every single one of the four girls is unreal. And they seem to still love her as well—they’d surprised her a few days ago, out of nowhere, with a trip to Berlin, because Camila had kept texting them in the group chat, telling them time and time again that she _really_ wanted to be somewhere cold over the holiday season for once, that she finally wanted to witness a white Christmas. And, being the great friends they still are, they’d given her a gift card a few days after her spam saying _To make your greatest wish come true. XX_

A grin spreads across her face. She still can’t believe that her girls would do something that amazing for her. Just thinking back to it now, she’s getting chills. She remembers smiling and laughing and crying when she’d gotten the card; it was just way too perfect, she couldn’t believe it. And even now, as she’s sitting on her hotel balcony in the German capital, with her face all lit up—both by the streetlights and her positive thoughts, the love she’s feeling—she still can’t fully believe she has friends who’d go out of their way to do her a favor this huge. Going to Berlin, with her, over the holidays? Choosing to make _her_ happy over staying home with their families, their friends?

Her heart flutters as she’s overcome by the happiness they’re responsible for. By how lucky she is to have met them.

How lucky she is to have met _her_ , Lauren.

She loves Lauren.

Don’t get her wrong now, she loves all four girls, but if she’s completely honest, she loves—has always loved—Lauren more. Okay– maybe she doesn’t love her _more_ , it would be unfair to say that—it’s just _different_. It’s a different kind of love. A love that makes her happy and unhappy, all at the same time. It makes her happy because the love she has for the girl fills her head and her whole body, and because it gives her chills whenever she’s close to Lauren. The reason why it makes her unhappy, though? She feels like she loses her mind when Lauren isn’t close to her. Like right now. It’s especially bad right now. She knows Lauren is only a couple of steps away from her, and she knows Lauren is within reach—at least physically.

And she also, in a way, knows that the Cuban girl with the black hair is behind all of _this_ , that Lauren is the reason why she’s here at the moment, because only _Lauren_ could talk her friends into taking Camila to Germany for the Christmas holidays. Lauren. Only Lauren.

Camila shakily inhales the nightly air as she leans forward over the railing. It smells like cars and winter. She likes the smell. With a smile on her face she gazes into the distance. The skyline is breathtaking. So many lights, so many colors are there, waiting to be seen, waiting to be taken in, waiting to blow minds, and so she wishes so much for her even more breathtaking love to be next to her right now, holding her hand. The fact that the woman had put in so much effort to make this Christmas dream of hers come true has Camila completely awestruck. Maybe it makes her love her even more. Maybe. If that’s at all possible.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Camila turns around to the source of her thoughts’ sudden interruption. Her hand automatically shoots up to where her heart is sitting in her rib cage, and she knits her eyebrows, trying desperately to find out what is happening. “What the hell?” Is someone at the door? At _her_ door? On Christmas Eve?

Or has she imagined the sound? The truth is, she doesn’t want to think too hard about her feelings for Lauren. So perhaps she made the knocking sound up in her head, as a distraction from her overthinking.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Or not.

There it is again, and it’s definitely real. Camila swears she can see the door move with the intensity of the last _knock_. Under her now fast-paced breath, she mumbles a too-quiet-to-be-heard, “Jesus.” As she gets closer and closer to the entrance of her temporary home, her hand slowly leaves her chest, but she’s still on alert, trying to figure out what exactly is going on. The knocking has stopped, apparently, and nobody seem to be outside in the hallway anymore. If there ever was. What the _hell_ is she going to do?

The door is there. Right in front of her. Will she open it? Or will she call someone instead? She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking about what to make her next step.

A piece of paper on the floor meets her eye. “Wait–” she bursts out, “how–”

Yeah, _how_ has _that_ gotten here? It certainly hadn’t been here before she’d left the room. So–

“Oh.”

Suddenly, it dawns on her. And she stands there, in front of her bed, realizing that it’s somehow all connected. The knocking, the paper– alright, so this is either _someone_ being really cute oder someone being _super_ creepy. She hopes for the former, but, knowing how lucky she is most of the time, she’s sure it’s the latter. In her mind, of course, it’s Lauren doing something sweet for her, but she quickly discards that thought. “It couldn’t be,” she tells herself. She takes another few steps forward, and rolls her eyes right before bending over to pick up the sheet. It’s probably from some stalker-y fan who’s found out she’s here. A person who’s currently waiting outside to murder her. A chuckle leaves her lips. It’s not improbable.

She waits another few seconds before going back to her bed to sit down and read what she’s received. It’s stupid to wait, but she just cannot make herself read it right away. And the minute she takes to breathe helps.

Her heartbeat has noticeably slowed down by the time she feels ready to look at the front of what she’s still holding in her slightly trembling hands.

Whatever she’d expected to find, to see, to read—it’s not _this._

 _Lights and candles everywhere,_  
_Christmas trees so wonderfully fair!_  
_The sky so clear, the stars so bright..._  
_Beautiful night, oh, holy night!_  
  
_Children are playing in cozy rooms,_  
_parents admiring the big white moon,_  
_choirs are spreading their sweet sweet sounds,_  
_everything's peaceful all around._  
  
_Christmas songs are being sung_  
_by everyone old and everyone young,_  
_People are laughing, there's no time to cry_  
_while angels in heaven are starting to fly._  
  
_Santa! Hey! The chimneys are waiting!_  
_So are the kids, down at the lake, skating!_  
_They've been waiting for, oh, so long,_  
waiting for all these good times to come.

 _The presents are finally under the trees,_  
_the reindeer—gone! Before anyone sees!_  
_Little ones laughing, dreams come true,_  
_sparkling eyes, no feeling blue._  
  
_Christmas—the happiest time of the year,_  
_around the globe, we forget about fear._  
_I'm wishing you health, and luck, all the best,_  
_may none of you, during this time, be depressed._  
  
_If, still, you don't know what present to bring,_  
_let it be your voice! Then you start to sing,_  
_"I wish you the merriest Christmas there is,_  
may you be happy and live life in bliss!"

_merry christmas!_

                               _ps: meet me at the reception_

Camila is out of the door in no time. Her heart is racing, again, but she’s not scared this time. No, she’s nervous now. And, believe it or not, it isn’t in a negative way. It’s a positive kind of nervous. Because she’s excited about meeting _them._  And she will. She’s sure of it. The way the mysterious person wrote the letter tells her it can’t be malicious. It sounds rather tender, gentle, and the words she’s read make her all warm and tingle-y. So, yes, she knows it’s nothing to be worried about. They’re not a stalker, it’s not a prank, it’s–

Camila stumbles over her own feet as she takes the last couple of steps, not being aware of when the staircase actually ends. How has she gotten to the lobby so quickly in the first place? She almost runs into a couple that walks past her, and without apologizing she makes her way over to the reception. The desk clerk looks at her with question marks written all over his forehead.

“Uh– hi,” she awkwardly smiles, “I was told to be here… now.”

The receptionist raises his eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything to her in response. He simply turns around to a female colleague who seems to be going through some files. All that Camila hears him say is something that sounds like _she’s kitesurfing in mold_ and comes back—once the woman has given him an answer in German—with a smirk on his tan face.

“Right,” he says, and then clears his throat, “if you could just sit down at that table for a minute or two. Someone will see you.”

Feeling incredibly confused, Camila does as she’s just been told, and walks straight across the lobby. She waves back at the guy behind the counter when she’s halfway to the sofa, and can see him still clearly smirking. God, if anything is creepy, _this_ is it. Ah well, she’s just going to focus back on how she’s going to meet someone who’s really good with words, someone thoughtful, someone who seems to be like–

_God, don’t even think it._

Lauren.

Alright, so, at this point, it may be an impossibility to deny her feelings, never mind ignore them. If the girl enters her mind in moments like this, in moments that don’t technically have anything to do with her, and only really mention a trait that she also has? Camila sinks back into her chair, embarrassed. Her cheeks feel hot, kind of like her whole body. God, she is gone for.

How long she’s been like this and ignored it, she doesn’t even know. And she’s also not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that she’s finally coming to terms with her love. Her deep, deep love. The love that she’s felt and kept on the inside.

It’s a good thing, she decides right then and there, to let it out—and by that, she means to open up to _herself_ about it, first and foremost—to think about it in this way. She may not be able to speak about it just yet, but it is nice to feel these feelings, to let herself feel them during this special time of the year. So Camila sits back up straight and lets herself indulge in the newly found beauty of loving Lauren.

It doesn’t even bother her that twenty minutes have passed since she was told someone’s going to be seeing her _right away_. No, it is _thirty_ minutes and countless lists of _what makes Lauren so exceptionally beautiful inside and out_ later that she does notice she’s most likely being stood up. Her theory of it not being a stalker that wants to see her proves itself right, then, as it cannot possibly be that a _stalker_ , an obsessive fan, would pass up the opportunity to be with her. The thought sort of relieves her. Though the initial question remains—who’s behind all of this? Why are they being mysterious _and_ unreliable?

Camila closes her eyes and covers her face with the cardigan she’d brought downstairs. “Of course.” She groans to herself. Something like this just _had_ to happen on Christmas Eve. Might as well go back and enjoy the rest of the pizza she and her ex bandmates had ordered last night. It might be a tiny bit awkward, though, going back past the reception, where the man and woman from before were still alone, sending her looks every now and then, with no potential customer—distraction—in sight. “As if it matters now, anyway…” She rolls her eyes.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

God, what is it with random people randomly knocking on her door or  calling her today? Don’t they have _stuff_ to do? They’re supposed to be preparing Christmas dinners. Roasting turkeys. Or– whatever.

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

Camila plops back down into the chair and reaches into her pocket. By the time she's pressed the _answer_ button, it’s too late, though.

_Call ended._

A frustrated sigh leaves her mouth. She’s about to angrily shove the phone back into its place when she sees a notification appear at the top of her screen.

Lauren.

_Hey Camz, where are you? We're in your room, come see us? xx_

A fluttering, racing heart. That’s what a simple message from Lauren does to her now. And, well, she should probably get used to it. It’s not like what she feels is a fleeting crush that is going to leave in a couple of days. She texts back in a hurry as she walks towards the elevators.

_Sure, be there in a sec xx_

The device almost falls out of her hands a few times, making her look clumsier to everyone around than she actually is, but—the things we do for love.

The elevator ride takes a few seconds. Her heart is a mess by the time she’s in front of her room. She knows Lauren said _we_ , which means the others will be there, so she won’t get any alone time with her, but Lauren will be _there_.

Lauren, Lauren, Lauren. “Lauren,” she breathes out.

And gets a reply. “Yeah, that's me.”

Oh, her damn smile. “Hey, uh–” As far as she remembers, she never knocked. “How’d you know I was there?” she asks, not daring to look at that pretty face as she walks past her love into the room.

“Intuition,” Lauren answers mysteriously.

“Reminds me of that Shakira song–” Whoa. Okay. She’s just taken a look around the room and– “Wow. Lauren, how– what–” Where have all the decorations come from? Where has her power of speech wandered off to? How and when was a _Christmas tree_ set up in here?

There’s no answer, just a smile. It’s not any less mysterious than the words spoken before.

A speechless Camila makes her way to the bed which, she only realizes now as she gets closer to inspect everything further, is illuminated by tiny fairy lights installed all around the bed frame. It’s so _breathtaking_ that her whole idea of sitting down to try and wrap her head around _this_ sounds better than just a second ago. Shaking her head, she manages to gasp, “Oh, my God.”

The fairy lights are not the only surprise that has very obviously been waiting for her. No, there are several presents under the tree, real or not she doesn’t know, as well as little angels and Santas on top of all the cabinets. Various other surfaces are decorated with candles. They’re most likely scented.

Camila feels all warm. It’s lovely. Everything is. Especially the tree, though; with its tiny golden figures hanging off the branches, its shiny red Christmas tree balls, its blue star at the very top. Someone really did think about this long and hard, someone knew what colors she loved and appreciated.

Lauren takes a step towards her, and as Camila turns her head from the tree to look up to meet the green eyed woman’s gaze, she sees the worry written all over the pretty face in front of her. Before she can react to her own observations, however, she feels Lauren sink into the mattress by the edge of the bed, next to where she’s already sitting. A cold hand meets her own. “What’s wrong?”

Camila hesitates. Should she risk explaining herself? Getting lost in an ocean of deep beautiful green?

“You’re being quiet. And you’re crying.” _Damn_. Camila doesn’t mean to be. The beauty has just overwhelmed her. And now the tone of voice that Lauren is using meets her ears and feels like a punch in the face. “Do you not like it?” It’s so _sad_.  _But it’s Christmas. We shouldn’t be sad._

With a newfound confidence, Camila looks up at Lauren. She takes her hand, really wraps it in hers, squeezes it, then lets go of it again to gently place her fingers on the woman’s chin. “Lauren,” she whispers, “I love it.”

A skeptical look. “Are you sure? The tears–”

“Mean I’m incredibly happy.” _It was her. It was all her. It has to be her. It’s her._ _Lauren, Lauren, Lauren._

She has to make sure.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” The intensity of their shared look almost makes her crumble; she almost gives in to the need to take her eyes off of the beauty, but she resists. She has to _know._  She has to be _sure_ Lauren feels _it_ , too.

And she’s so _close_ to knowing. She’s so close to making Lauren hers. One more step before she can be one hundred percent certain. It’s Christmas, so she _has_ to–

“The poem, the reception thing.” A gesture around the room. To the tree, the so neatly decorated tree. Then to the fairy lights. And she never does break the intimate connection between their eyes. Brown and green are still meeting, still creating a color that is so original, so _theirs_ that it is absolutely indescribable. Much like the fact that Lauren has gone through so much trouble—just imagine having to convince the staff of a _hotel_ to let you set up a _tree_ in a room—for her. Only for her. “It was you. And you did it for me.”

It all adds up. Like a math equation. It all adds up to one thing. _Love_. And seeing Lauren’s cheeks flush as the tension gets more and more palpable is one half of the confirmation she so desperately wants. But she has to hear it, too. In her mind, it’s clicked, everything’s set in place, she just wants to hear it now. Needs to hear it. It’s all that is left. “You convinced the others to take me to Berlin. And they made it seem like it was their idea. I still had a feeling.  I could tell it was you. Somehow. I don’t– it’s like–” How is she going to explain that she just _knew_? “I felt it. It’s you, Lauren.” If she’s still referring to the trip with that last part, she’s not sure.

She can feel that Lauren wants to look down, she can see the woman is embarrassed about having been _caught_ , but something is holding her back. Something is telling her not to break _it._  Not now. Not when they’re _here_. There’s no turning back. Camila knows, and she knows Lauren knows, too. It’s now or never.

She gently caresses a trembling chin as she closes the distance between them. “You love me,” she states with a raspy voice.

Lauren doesn’t reply right away.

Camila waits, then, with her face only inches from her love’s, a face covered in lights as stunning as the face itself. Her eyes are pleading now, begging for Lauren to cross the line, to make the final move. To _confess._

Then, finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, of begging, of almost _breaking_ under the tension their connection is creating, it happens. “I do.”

But it’s still not enough. She’s waited so long, it has to be _more._  “Tell me.”

Lauren _knows_ what she means. Instantly. “I love you, Camila.”

The kiss that follows not even a second later is what Camila imagines pure bliss to feel like. Their lips meet in a hungry embrace, and Lauren feels like a warm summer breeze, but she also feels like a snowstorm that you sit out in front of the fire, cuddling, and she feels like everything Camila has ever dreamed of but never expected to actually _have_ with anyone. And, well, Camila thinks she knows what it is that makes her feel so blissful—Lauren feels like _home_. She feels like the home Camila has been looking for in places, not thinking you could find home in people. But here Lauren is, surprising her, confirming that _yes_ , it’s true and it’s possible, and it’s happening to her, to _them._

Lauren’s kiss is perfect. It is so perfect, in fact, that for a moment, Camila isn’t sure if it’s real or not, but then Lauren assures her that it _is_ real, that she has nothing to be afraid of. She tells her, smiling, “I’ve loved you for so long, Camz, and I had to get it out. Christmas seemed like the best opportunity. I know how much you like the holidays.”

Camila smiles back, loving the feeling of her fingers still on Lauren’s soft cheek. “God, Lo, I honestly can’t believe you’ve done all this for me. You’re so thoughtful. So wonderful. So beautiful. Everything about you is so, _so_ beautiful. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Camz. More than anything. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

The kiss they share is initiated by Lauren, and Camila lets herself drown in it. It’s soft, very soft, but it’s also intense. More intense than the intimate looks they’ve shared, and Camila loves the way their lips fit together, she loves that they seem to be made for each other. She loves kissing Lauren, she loves being with Lauren, she _loves Lauren._  But, most importantly, she loves having found a home within her love.

Later that night, as the snow that Camila had waited all her life to see on Christmas begins to cover the chairs on the balcony, they touch each other for the first time in a way that only lovers do; and they whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears, and they repeat love confessions over and over and over again until they can no longer speak, and Camila cannot make herself stop thinking about how much she has missed _being home_.

Lauren is her home. And Camila loves being home. It makes her happy.

Lauren makes her happy, and she is sure that that isn’t going to change for a long, long time. She’s sure that a lot of Christmases are to follow.

She _knows_.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments would be great xx


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